Midnight Revelations
by MovePeonyMove
Summary: Lydia has enamoured and mystified Deputy Parrish, but his reservations leave her bitter until one night-time visit. (Lydia x Parrish, one shot)


She reaches for the cup, places it against her parted lips, eyes glued to the paper. Sighs at the realization that the cup is empty. That is has been empty the last three times she made the gesture. Lydia is tired. Exhausted. She'd been working on feeling something, _anything_ that might help the case. If only anxiety and sleep deprivation worked their magic this time.

_I came by your house. You're not home. Go home._

Her concentration breaks when her phone lights up with a text from Malia. She shoves it into the pocket of her cardigan, takes a deep breath. But before she can exhale, the door to the interrogation room opens with a long creak. Parrish emerges from behind it with calculated silence, as though afraid of awaking a ferocious animal. And Lydia is ferocious when the situation calls for it. But not tonight, and not to Parrish.

"Lydia," he says in a near whisper. "I think you should head home."

His voice echoes through her mind, calm and comforting. She looks up at him.

"I didn't get to figure anything out yet,"

"You will." He assures her. "But you need sleep. It's almost three in the morning."

Lydia would laugh at him, would tell him that it's not a day in her life if she doesn't stay up past that time. But she doesn't, her eyes falling back down to the page. Parrish doesn't move away from his spot, but his eyes are pleading. Lydia can see them in her peripheral view, feel them boring into her, rushing the blood into her exhausted face. She gives up, begins gathering her belongings, walks towards him when she's done. But he's still not moving. And now, neither is Lydia. She's close enough to hear his breathing go from leveled to erratic, close enough to see his pupils dilate as they scan her face.

Her bag slides from her hand, drops to the floor with a thud that neither Lydia nor Parrish can hear. Her hand rises to his chest almost instinctively. And when it's pressed against him, warm, breathing and alive, her meager heart beats with an intensity that echoes through every cell of her body. Lydia is overwhelmingly close to a faint. Yet she keeps reaching, as though the man standing in front of her is a mystery she must solve. He presses his hands to her waist, shaky yet gentle, and she moves forward, cocks her head until her lips hover just above his, waiting for the resolve to close the remaining space between them.

But the resolve never comes, and she feels heart-shattering disappointment as Parrish's hands slip away from her, his lips parting as they say her name.

"Lydia,"

Oh how she wants to taste her name on his lips, how she wants to feel every part of him. It's not a want, but a need. A need that burns within her like a wild fire, spreading to every part of her body until it moans with want.

But she pulls away. "Sorry," she says, kneading her eyebrows and avoiding his gaze. She picks her bag up from the floor almost as an afterthought, walks through the door when Parrish steps away from it. His eyes follow her out of the police station, and he's awestruck, running a hand through his hair, playing back the moment that passed between them in a feverish frenzy. He's brought out of the reverie when he hears the quiet hum of Lydia's car pulling out of the station, and he's filled with painful regret about not asking her if she's okay, about not giving her a ride home. About not crashing his lips against hers when he had the chance.

"Everything alright Parrish?" Sheriff Stilinski asks, expression of concern on his face.

He shakes his head, "Just having an off day."

"Ah," the sheriff says, doubtful. "Why don't you leave the night shift to me."

"I couldn't,"

He grimaces and walks away. "It's an order. I'll see you in the morning,"

Parrish is driving home when he swerves on the road and in a moment of weakness, or perhaps strength, and ends up standing in front of the Martin mansion. He's never been here before, never had any reason to, and now he's regretting setting foot on the property altogether. It's late at night, so how foolish must he have been to think that any of the inhabitants of the house would be awake? Especially Lydia, whom he specifically told to get some sleep.

Lydia. How she mystifies him, with her resolve to never quit, even when she can't wrap her mind around a case. Parrish can't wrap his mind around her. He is enamored by a girl out of his league, both socially and by law and yet he can't stop himself. Is this why he's here? Because of his lack of restraint?

No, he's here to get some answers. Answers that one can't get in the middle of the night. And probably shouldn't get, all things considered. So as he walks back to the car, he reminds himself that it was his choice to be the servant of the law. That nothing, not even someone with the most beautiful mind should make him go back on his decision.

So when the door to the house swings open and a flustered Lydia rushes after him, he half-considers fleeing before they are face to face again. But she grabs him by the shoulder, spins him around to face her. Her red hair is disheveled and her deep eye bags and hollow cheeks shows even more signs of sleep deprivation. He feels a weight in his stomach.

"What are you doing here?" She says, her tone a combination of a whisper and a yell.  
"I'm not sure," he says. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come."

"No, you shouldn't." Lydia says. "But you did."

Parrish gulps.

"Well?" she questions.

"I wanted to know," he says, pausing before telling her what it is he came here for. And she's staring at him, frowning, but he sees the fear in her eyes and he knows her mind is scanning for a coherent answer.

"What happened back at the station?"

Lydia's frown deepens. "I was hoping to find out from you,"

Parrish looks her in the eye and his resolve wavers. Perhaps he was wrong in his assumption that the feeling was mutual. Perhaps he's been taking advantage of a minor, never mind the fact that he has always seen Lydia as an equal. Under law, that is a small detail.

"I'm sorry," he says. "What I did was out of line and against the law. Lydia –"

Her eyes grow large, but he barely dares to look at her. "You're kidding."

"Excuse me?"

"You _have_ to be kidding." Lydia exclaims, almost too loud for such a quiet neighborhood at night. He furrows his brows.

"You're so loyal to your stupid laws, even though everything we're doing, this case and the ones before, don't follow any proper procedure."

"What are you saying?"

"Why can't you, for one moment at least, look away from the law and see _me_."

She's nearly hysterical, her body shaking with emotion that does not just revolve around Parrish. She's put so much pressure on herself.

He pulls her against him, his hand running through the length of her hair as she breathes against his neck, her arms wound tightly around his waist.

"Lydia, I'm sorry," He says, apologizing for what feels like the hundred's time this evening. "It's not easy to let go of one's principles."

"I'm not asking you to do that," Lydia whispers. "I'm not asking you to give up your moral code for me. It just doesn't feel good when it stands in between something I want _so badly_."

Her voice, sweet and soothing, makes his heart race again. He's holding her still, and she's not pulling away, letting out small internal moans as he rubs her back. When she does pull away, it's slow and calculated and she stops just far enough to look up into his eyes, scanning his face to find out what he's thinking.

And in that moment, he does the unthinkable. He presses his lips against hers, eyes closed as though by not seeing the action, he would be less responsible for initiating it. Lydia deepens the kiss with a deep inhale, tongue parting his lips and exploring the hollows of his mouth. She tastes like cognac, fruity and earthy and _inebriating_. His hands move away from her shoulders to cup her face, and she presses herself against him with power a sleep-deprived individual would not display. But he doesn't linger on this question, wouldn't dare to think about such trivial matters when Lydia is kissing down his jaw, her hands against the back of his neck, eyelashes fluttering against his skin with each kiss. He can barely keep himself from carrying her into his car, _anywhere_, as she lightly nibbles on his ear, breathing audible and so desperate. But Lydia deserves more than that, so much more than that, so he pulls away while he still can. She looks at him from behind her eyelashes, frowns.

"Parrish."

He brushes the stray hairs of her face, smiles. "You deserve more than just a hasty make out session in the middle of your driveway."

Lydia grins, "What if it's exactly what I want?"

She leans in again, brushing her lips against his, and Parrish allows her because he wants it too. Fears he might never be satisfied.

**A/N: I could not help myself with this pairing. Teen Wolf has very dubious moral values so I'm not too preoccupied with the fact that Lydia is a minor. Enjoy and leave a review! **


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